The Old Lie
by chemicalflashes
Summary: In 2014, a child seeks answers about the War and her parents refuse to tell her. In 1998, the child's father participates in said war and refuses to give up. Ratings have gone up. (DC/OQ)
1. The Old Lie

**A/N: Written for my sister, Mertice, who wanted Dulce Et Decorum Est, Dennis Creevey, Orla Quirke and The Battle Of Hogwarts. Also, this story directly ties in with In Memoriam. So if you want to know more about Ezra and Lilith (and Colin) you might want to read that, though it's not necessary.**

 **Character list (alphabetical, first name): Colin Creevey,** **Cora Creevey (OC),** **Dennis Creevey, Ezra Creevey (OC), Hannah Longbottom (neé Abbott), Lilith Moon, Neville Longbottom, Orla Creevey (neé Quirke), Parvati Patil**

 **DISCLAIMER: I don't even need to say it.**

 **"All rights to Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers...yada yada yada..."**

 **WARNING: WHAT YOU'RE ABOUT TO READ CONTAINS BRUTAL DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND IMPLIED SEXUAL ABUSE IN A WAR. PROCEED ON YOUR OWN RISK. ALSO, EVERYTHING IS COMPLETELY CANNON COMPLIANT SO NO DEATHS WILL BE AVOIDED.**

-oOo-

 _Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,_

 _Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,_

 _Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs_

 _And towards our distant rest began to marched asleep. Many had lost their boots_

 _But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;_

 _Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots_

 _Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind._

 _Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,_

 _Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;_

 _But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,_

 _And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . ._

 _Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,_

 _As under a green sea, I saw him drowning._

 _In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,_

 _He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning._

 _If in some smothering dreams you too could pace_

 _Behind the wagon that we flung him in,_

 _And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,_

 _His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;_

 _If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood_

 _Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,_

 _Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud_

 _Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,_

 _My friend, you would not tell with such high zest_

 _To children ardent for some desperate glory,_

 _The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est_

 _Pro patria mori._

 ** _— Dulce Et Decorum Est, Wilfred Owen_**

-oOo-

December, 2014

It is a peaceful evening after Christmas Day when she raises the wicked topic. Again.

"I wish I was there," eleven year old Cora says.

"No!" her parents shout simultaneously. Their sudden outburst shocks her into silence. "In all truthfulness," her father adds after a moment, "it wasn't that exciting," They get up after that, and she knows she isn't going to know more about 2nd May, 1998 from her parents that evening.

She sighs; she cannot understand why her parents find The Battle Of Hogwarts a sensitive issue even after more than a decade and a half. Ezra, her fifteen year old cousin, doesn't want to talk about it either and Aunt Lilith just changes the subject whenever she pops it up. Well, she sort of understands. Her father lost his brother, Ezra lost his father— a father whom he never got to know and Aunt Lilith lost her soulmate as well as her mother. But whom did her mother lose?

What happened on 2nd May, 1998 that her mother, Orla Creevey, doesn't want to talk about it? What could've have happened on that fateful day that her usually spirited mother became a silent shell whenever the topic rose?

She has to find out. She has to.

-oOo-

That night Orla shudders in her sleep and wakes up crying in the darkness of their bedroom. Dennis catches hold of her body which is shivering, even though the room is a comfortable warm. He strokes her short golden hair which once used to be so long that it hung just above her ankles when she left it free. He had used to call her Rapunzel and she had used to call him La Petite Prince, after the French fairytale but not any longer, those days have long gone by. Now they are just Orla and Dennis— broken pieces of their old self who stick together to make a whole.

"Oh _Dennis_ ," she speaks in between her sobs as he cradles her against his chest. "Why? Why? Why?"

He does not say anything. He cannot say anything. Why did they have to undergo the atrocities of war? Why? What had been their fault? Standing up for what was right? For doing the right thing?

Instead of saying anything he kisses her forehead and continues stroking her hair with one hand while the other undoes the zipper at the back of her nightdress to uncover all the scars. Slowly and steadily, he makes her sit up. The dress slips off her shoulder to reveal grotesque scars covering the entirety of her shoulders and back.

He is not going to make love to her tonight; there would be many more nights for that. Tonight, he is going to ease away her pain— a pain which has not lost its potency even after sixteen years. Dennis bends down and kisses each of those ghastly marks of torture.

"Hush, my Rapunzel,"

-oOo-

February, 2015

"It was chaos," Professor Longbottom tells her. "Utter chaos,"

They are standing outside one of the greenhouses. He points his finger in the direction of the entrance of the castle. "I found your Uncle and Aunt there," he says and takes in a deep breath. "The two of them were fighting at least seven Death Eaters together. Boy, that was a sight to see. I realised that day that your Uncle was a powerful wizard even if the Disarming Spell wasn't his forte. Anyway, I told him to leave because he was underage and do you know what he told me?"

"What?" Cora asks curiously.

"He told me, 'Sod it! This is my home and I am going to protect it,' Yes, I remember that clearly. Those were his exact words,"

"It must have been exciting,"

"Whatever gave you the idea?" he mutters, his tone suddenly sullen and walks away, shaking his head like a broken ragdoll.

-oOo-

"I notice you have been following me. Is there something you need child?" Professor Patil asks her kindly.

"Professor, I was wondering if you could tell me whether my mother and father were present in the Battle or not?"

The Divination Professor visibly winces on hearing the question.

"They were," she adds after a short while. "It seems that your father had managed to sneak inside the School unbeknownst to your Uncle. He was holding your mother's limp body when I saw him. She was covered from head to toe in blood and I helped them in rushing to Madam Pomfrey."

The teacher takes in a deep breath and adds, "During the one hour break in the Battle your father discovered that your Uncle had died and he got so angry that as soon as the Battle resumed, he fled out of the doors before anyone could catch him, armed with only a broom and his wand. Your Aunt stayed behind; it seemed as if she didn't have the will to endure anymore. He was a miracle to see, my sister told me. He flew high up and stood up on the broom! I think it was the adrenaline rush of the moment. He doesn't play Quidditch with you now, does he?"

She mutters a 'no'.

"Anyway," the Professor continues, "he was marvelous that day, your father. Dodging nasty hexes and curses as if they were just bludgers. He attacked many Death Eaters that day with _Bombarda Maxima._ It was something to see,"

"I wish I could have seen it," Cora tells her earnestly.

The Professor just smiles wryly.

"Never wish that child. Never," she says firmly but politely. "Off you go now. It is getting quite late,"

-oOo-

November, 2016

Now that she's in her third year, she's here in Hogsmeade in front of Hannah Longbottom in The Three Broomsticks.

"Yes," the graceful lady says, "I think that was your mother whom I saw. Orla Quirke, isn't it?"

"Creevey,"

"Of course. My fault. So what do you want to know?"

"Who attacked her during the battle?" she replies simply.

Madam Longbottom closes her eyes, as if trying to remember. "It was Dolohov. Antonin Dolohov," she murmurs finally and Cora cannot mistake the shudder that runs down the woman's back.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you any further. I don't want to," Madam Longbottom adds hurriedly and the wipes the sweat on her forehead with her robe's sleeves that has appeared in spite of the cold winter.

Cora leaves with a frown.

-oOo-

September, 2018

"Why can't I wish to be there, Uncle? Why can't I wish to know the truth?" she asks aloud the thin air as she fingers the name, _Colin Creevey_ on the memorial.

"Because you shouldn't," a disembodied voice answers her.

She whirls around in shock because she had never ever expected a reply to find herself face to face with the ghost of her dead Uncle. She recognises him immediately of course, from the old fashioned Argus Matchmatic he happens to carry even in the afterlife.

"But why?" she asks tentatively.

"Because nothing's good about a war, any war,"

"Then why do I find all the accounts exciting?"

"Of course you do. Of course you do. But your being excited doesn't mean it was exciting for the people who experienced things firsthand. It's the Old Lie; dying for what you think is right is the most sweet and fitting thing. Let me tell you something, Cora, if you could've seen what happened in there, what happened to your mother, what happened to me and countless others, then you would have never wished to see it— the waste of life, blood and a million unfulfilled opportunities."

"But— but they were our enemies. Didn't you enjoy seeing them fall down?"

Colin just shakes his head at this naïve child's distorted idea of a war.

"And weren't they human beings too? Friends, enemies... I am sure it doesn't matter so long as there is mercy. Always mercy."

-oOo-

 **There's a second part too, which contains the actual war.**

 **For now, I hope you liked this!**


	2. Battlefield

**A/N: Here's the second part, as promised, containing Dennis' and Orla's back story.**

• **°``°•*•°``°•**

 **Battlefield**

 _"It's hopeless hoping for more,"_

• **°``°•*•°``°•**

At the stroke of midnight, Colin ties him up and leaves. He also binds and petrifies him for extra measure. He doesn't chant a goodbye and leaves-leaves-leaves. Leaves him lying helplessly against the wall. If his dear brother thinks that he isn't going to follow him after all this, then he's wrong. Very, very wrong.

After a long, gruelling three hours when the full body-bind spell has worn off and he is free to wriggle around in his ropes, Dennis Creevey formulates a highly uncertain plan. First, he will try to execute a cutting charm on his ropes. Wandlessly. Then he would have to somehow reach Hogwarts. Thank lord they had been intelligent enough to pack in their brooms.

In his mind, he has conversations with Quirky Quirke aka Rapunzel aka Orla Quirke. He wonders what she would say right now.

"Colin left me here to rot,"

"Everyone leaves, Dennis. In the end, it's just your own turmoil,"

Yeah, she would definitely say that, Ravenclaw wit and all.

"I always knew you had it in you, Dennis Creevey," She is smiling now, her sea green eyes twinkling. "Go and fight. I will be waiting,"

He is about to smile back when the lights go out and he is rudely chased out of his reverie. Ugh. He had been telling Colin that this motel wasn't as good as its owners were making it out to be. Light from street lamps is streaming in. He would have to make do with the half darkness that has capsized this room.

He has never done wandless magic before and has read next to little to no theory. The only time he has seen it in action was when he saw Colin conjuring a ball of light over his head some days back when they had been sleeping out in the open.

He is nervous as he mutters the charm and looks pointedly at the ropes binding his arms to his torso. Nothing happens. He closes his eyes. "Concentrate Creevey. Concentrate," he says aloud to the thin air.

" _Diffindo!_ "

Nothing. He tries it five more times and still nothing happens. In the seventh chance, when he is irritated beyond measure, the ropes break away with a sharp crack. But they are not the only things the charm cuts; his shirt has been cut open too and his stomach is unbearably painful. When he withdraws his hand after touching it, it comes back bathed in crimson and scarlet. He winces as he walks to the bathroom.

Dennis lifts his shirt and looks at the damage in the mirror. He hurriedly washes the gash with water. The shirt he is wearing is converted into a makeshift bandage and is wrapped around his wiry frame. He doesn't pay more attention to it as he donns up a fresh shirt; he has to find his brother, Orla is out there, waiting for him to come, this is a war— one that is specifically against people like him, Colin, Orla and Lilith— muggleborns and in the vast scheme of things, he knows his sufferings aren't of any importance. Anyway, he thinks, I would have it looked over by Madam Pomfrey once I reach Hogwarts... if I do.

He gulps in dry air as he grips his wand and proceeds to rummage through his belongings for his broom in his bigger-on-the-inside rucksack. After fifteen minutes he finds the shrunk version of his broom. He immediately enlarges it, disillusions himself and flies out into the terrible night.

It starts raining after about two and a half hours when he is flying over the Forest. He curses Scotland and loves Ireland more than he ever has in all his life in that moment. The blood loss isn't helping much either. The treacherous rain, coupled with the blood loss is making his vision more blurry by the second. He is whooshing through the air when disaster in the form of lightening strikes the behind of his broom, burning it out. He loses his balance and falls along with the pouring rain straight into a large tree.

He closes his eyes as sharp branches scrape his wet clothes and skin. His mousy brown hair is sticking to his head and the torturous wound on his stomach continues to not clot. "Am I dead yet?" he mutters. When he opens his eyes he finds dismal darkness surrounding him and when he peers down, he can see make out some figures standing beneath the tree. And it looks like that they have noticed him.

Fuck.

"Hey, you!" one of them shouts. He feels an invisible force pulling him away from the branches and then suddenly, he is falling towards the ground. His back connects with the dusty forest floor with a painful thud. Thank goodness it hadn't been a greater height, otherwise he is sure his spine would have cracked into two.

There are two of them and seeing the red armbands on their sleeves he knows who they are. Just his luck to have fallen among Snatchers.

"I'll deal with you later, little girl," the other one says and the way he says it makes a shiver run down his spine as he gets up and notices a third figure huddled against a tree. Slowly, he makes out that she has been tied to the tree in a manner not unlike the way Colin had left him more than three hours ago.

"Please, leave me," she whimpers.

Wait, he has heard that voice before. He is very certain of that even though his mind is quite muddled at the moment.

"Hush! I will leave you but not before I have had another look at those pert breasts of yours,"

He hears more crying and he actually winces at the statement. They turn their attention back of him and he stands up on his shaky feet. This time he sees who is huddled under the tree in all her entirety and he barely holds back a gasp. Long, very long golden hair that is strewn around her body, wet from the relentless downpour. Orla Quirke. She looks half dead. The ropes wound around her body are red. Is that blood? In all his dreams he had never expected her to be waiting for him like _this._ She sees him with fear-stricken eyes but doesn't dare say anything.

"I asked you, who are you?"

The rain continues its fury and now his fury is going to outshine its. Oh boy, he thinks, they're going to pay for this even if I die in the process. The adrenaline rush fuels his fire.

"How did you do that?" he asks with fake surprise.

"Just answer the question, boy,"

"I am just a wanderer who thought it was a good idea to go do paragliding in this monstrous weather," he lies with practised ease. He did get into Hogsmeade as a second year.

He sniggers inwardly. He knows that the two of them don't have the least idea of what paragliding entails.

"Paragliding? What the hell is that, boy?" the one who had been torturing Orla asks.

Before he can say anything, the other one speaks. "I think he's a muggle,"

"Muggle?" He is enjoying himself now and fingering the solid piece of wood in his trouser pocket. "What's a muggle?"

They smirk.

"You're in deep shit, boy. We're Snatchers. In other words, we're wizards and we're going to kill you." he drawls.

Dennis gasps, pretending to be horrified with the situation. Well, he _is_ horrified but the reason is not what the snatchers think it to be.

"Get ready to die, little boy," they cackle.

He clutches his wand tightly.

"You think I'm a muggle. Then you would never see this coming!" he says and whips out his wand.

The two idiots can't react before he shouts, " _Bombarda Maxima_!" Orla's tormentor shatters up into a million pieces. He turns around with an agility that he had not known that he possessed. Looks like the training sessions with Lilith and Colin are paying out, after all, he thinks. " _Incendio_!"

The other man's robes catch fire and he falls to the ground in a flailing mess of flames. Even the rain can't do anything to stop it. Dennis himself falls down, clutching his stomach and somehow he manages to crawl over to Orla.

"Oh Dennis..." she whispers.

"Orla, what did they do to you?" he asks as he cups her cheek with the hand that isn't busy in holding his stomach.

She doesn't say anything but sobs wrack her body. He kisses her forehead as he unties the ropes binding her to the tree. What he sees underneath makes him blanch: her clothes are half torn and blood is dripping freely from her shoulders and chest. He cradles her to him and runs his hand over her back in soothing circles and when he does so, he finds that multiple unhealed scars are present on her back.

"Dennis, they treated me like a ragdoll. Worse than a ragdoll," she weeps into his shoulder. He doesn't say anything. What could he have said anyway? I'm sorry? If anyone should be sorry it should be those fucking Death Eaters and their minions.

"I just said aloud You-Who-Know's name and they came thundering upon me. I hadn't meant to say it; it had just slipped out of my mouth,"

He holds her tightly as he stands up and makes her stand up with him. He feels as if he is going to die at any second now but he carries on, for Orla's sake, for Colin's sake.

"Come on, Rapunzel. We can't keep on crying. What has happened can't be undone but the future has still not happened and we can decide its outcome. For the moment, we're not just fourteen years old teenagers but also a piece of a fragmentary plot that is yet to be completed. Moping will do none of us any good. Both of us are dying and if we die, that plot might never be completed. So come on, move forward,"

"Dennis, I am scared,"

He bends down to kiss both of her cheeks. "So am I. So am I. Fear makes companions of all of us. It is that other sensation which always lives with us and surrounds us. Now tell me, do you know where they kept your wand?"

"I think it was in one of those bags by that tree,"

He quickly summons the bags, finds her wand and hands it over to her.

They walk into the dawn, supporting each other.

o••°``°••o

They finally reach their destination after four hours of torturous walking, quarter alive and three-fourths dead. By now, the blood has soaked through his shirt and a dull red spot is present on his shirt. Orla is in a much, much worse condition that him though.

They enter the School from the Black Lake's side when a Death Eater spots them. With menacing black robes and an ugly silver mask, he approaches the two of them. His evil eyes glint from underneath his mask and Dennis has a very bad feeling about this.

"Oh look, little, bleeding children," he snorts and cackles, sounding very much hysterical. "Itty-bitty mudbloods come to fight?"

They don't reply and Dennis comes to stand protectively in front of Orla.

"Out of my way, mudblood!" he yells and whizzes his wand through the air, causing Dennis to be flung aside like a wile pebble stuck in somebody's shoe. As his body hits the ground he wonders when he would really die.

"What have we got here?" the masked Death Eater says as he nears Orla who reflexively starts backing away. She raises her wand but the evil man is too strong for her and he disarms her in a blink. He lunges at her and she jumps back and starts running, unable to do anything. She is too tired, too weak and thoroughly violated and she just wants to die already.

" _Impedimenta_!" the man behind her shouts.

Her feet falter in the grass and she crashes into the ground face down, the impact making her bones creak with sheer pain. The Death Eater knots his hand in long hair and pulls her backwards, making her wince as her head is lifted off the ground.

Something kicks inside Dennis when he sees the events unfold before him. He gets up and his head feels very woozy. "I am sorry, Orla," he murmurs and points his wand towards her. " _Diffindo_!" he screams at the top of his lungs and Orla's hair is cut off. The Death Eater falls back with a loud thud and glares at him. He tosses away the hair and gets up quickly.

" _Sectusempra!_ " he yells.

" _Protego!_ " Dennis retorts back. If he is going down, he isn't going to do so without a fight. He knows he cannot hold on for much longer and keeping up the shield is draining energy from him.

Fortunately for him, a graceful dark skinned and black haired girl decides to intervene and stupefies the Death Eater. He belatedly realises that she is one of the Patil twins— Parvati Patil from the Gryffindor tie she is wearing.

"You're injured. And underage. Come. Quick! I'll take you to Madam Pomfrey. Hurry before he wakes up again,"

"Wait," he heaves, "there's someone else who needs medical attention," He quickly runs and picks up Orla who had still been lying on the ground. They sneak around corners and when they're just outside the Medical Wing, Voldemort makes his announcement; the Battle is going to be held for one hour.

As he goes inside he sees that Neville Longbottom and Oliver Wood are bringing in the bodies of the fallen students. It is during this moment that he sees something very disturbing— someone with mousy brown hair being brought in. His face is turned away from him but he very well knows who he is from the grey trousers and white shirt that he is wearing, because Dennis himself is wearing the same kind of clothes, only smaller in size, because their mother had stitched them herself. His heart sinks.

A wailing brown haired girl is following his brother's stretcher. It is Lilith, he realises a second too late. He gently deposits Orla on the nearest empty bed available and politely asks Parvati to look over her till Madam Pomfrey came.

The pain in his stomach feels next to nothing, compared to the pain his heart is reeling in. He doesn't realise when he reaches his brother lifeless body. Blood is oozing from his chest, in a manner similar to Orla's. Dennis drops on his knees but doesn't cry his heart out. "The curse— it was so dark," Lilith explains from beside him with sobs,"that it sliced his heart,"

All Dennis can feel is rage.

 _"Do not go gentle into that good night_

 _Rage, rage against the dying of the light,"_

Colin often used to quote those lines. Rage, yes, rage is the answer Dennis Creevey has been seeking to all his problems since the beginning of his messy fourth year.

They killed his brother. They shattered his best friend. He is going to make them pay as hell. He is going to screw them bad, preferably with something rusted and sharp.

Madam Pomfrey heals him up in less than a minute with a dash of dittany. "Rest," she orders him as he watches her pour a Calming Draught down Orla's throat. To hell with rest, he thinks as he runs out of the Wing straight into Stewart Ackerley, one of his few good friends in the entire school who happened to be a pureblood.

"Hey, Dennis—"

"Do you have a broom right now?"

Stewart is shocked more by his friend's broken appearance than by his sudden question.

"Then give it to me. Fast! I need it. It's an emergency,"

The Hufflepuff looks at him with raised eyebrows. So much for a hello.

"Are you going to fight, Dennis?"

"Yes,"

"Then I am sorry. I can't. I just can't. I refuse to let you die,"

"I knew that you were going to refuse me, mate. But they killed my brother and Orla is nearly dead—"

"Orla? What happened to her?"

"Something very bad. And as I was saying, they have forced me to take drastic measures. What is your broom's name, Stewart?"

"Nimbus," his friend splutters, unable to see how Dennis is going to something out of his broom's name but he doesn't know how powerful and enraged he is feeling at the moment.

Dennis raises his wand.

" _Accio_ Nimbus!" he all but screams.

At least a hundred Nimbuses of various types start hovering over them in a matter of minutes. Stewart just looks at them, shell-shocked.

"Which one is yours, Stew?" Dennis asks with a wicked grin.

o••°``°••o

He doesn't look back as he breaks out. Voices are screaming behind him, telling him to return. Let them scream. He doesn't care if he dies today. There are grey clouds in the sky and a strong wind is blowing. A wind can't lead him astray today, for today he is one with the wind. Today he is swirling, today he is dancing a fatal dance as he flies up high in the air dodging curses and hexes and what not and stands up on the broom.

" _Bombarda Maxima!_ "

Over and again.

Over and again.

Chant. Repeat.

Chant. Repeat.

When he sees the Death Eater from earlier, he dares to use the Cruciatus Curse and gets away with it. He doesn't know where all this power is coming from— usually he's all fumbling when it comes to curses and jinxes, but today something has clicked and it has made a fire out of him. He loses count after finishing ten.

The tears would come later, he knows that, but for now, only the fire will burn.

• **°``°•*•°``°•**

 **Ending notes:**

 **If anyone was aggravated by Dennis hating Scotland due to the weather please note that I am Scottish too and well, the Creeveys are Irish.**

 **This chapter contains no OCs except the two Snatchers. So all of them belong to JKR.**

 **Lastly, PLEASE REVIEW and tell me your thoughts. Thank you!**


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